


On Serenity, Rightness, and Attaining Peace

by Yenta49 (KyoKohitsuji)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 10:30:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyoKohitsuji/pseuds/Yenta49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it’s the simple things that bring the world into focus – a fever, a memory, and the world as it should be, simple.</p>
<p>Warning: shameless schmoopy h/c ahead, diabetics beware</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Serenity, Rightness, and Attaining Peace

**Author's Note:**

> **AN1:** Set post-SenToo.  
>  **AN2:** My second outing with the boys; be gentle.  
>  **AN3:** Once again, immeasurable thanks to Kyo for allowing me to hijack her AO3 (and being an awesome cheerleader even from outside the fandom).

\---------

“Chief?”

“Yeah, Jim,” Blair answered absently, scribbling, intently filling out Jim’s reports.

The big man leaned over and plucked the pen and paperwork from his friend’s hands. “Go home.”

“But Jim, man, these are almost done.”

“Believe it or not, Chief, I _was_ capable of doing my own paperwork before you came along.” The seemingly chastising words were said with a smile.

Blair watched Jim carefully and deliberately place the papers on the far side of his desk. He reached out an expressive arm imploringly towards his partner. “Come on, man.”

“Home, Sandburg,” Jim ordered.

Leaning back, Blair huffed, trying to put together what he was missing. Everything had been fine; a relatively slow day in Major Crimes, spent following leads and waiting for lab reports that Jim already knew the results of. There was absolutely no reason for Jim to basically kick him out of the bullpen and send him home.

“Chief,” Jim called softly, “go home, fix yourself some of that ginger/goldenseal tea of yours, and I’ll swing by that Thai place over on Hendricks on my way home.”

The prospect of Yam Nua had Blair up and smiling once again.

“But only if you go home,” Jim admonished, his tone turning more serious than playful. He knew Blair was getting sick; the barely there whistle of Blair’s lungs ringing like a gong in his head and the sickly sweet smell of illness that was just beginning to peek around the proverbial corner attested to the fact.

Reluctantly, Blair grabbed his jacket, slinging his ever present backpack over his shoulder, bid his farewells, and left the station. He’d just slid into the driver’s seat of the Volvo when the headache started; nothing that out of the ordinary for a day of paperwork, or grading exams. Blair shook it off and headed home, suddenly that tea was sounding much more alluring.

~~~

Jim looked over the reports, nodding with satisfaction at the finished product, not that he’d had that much to finish – Sandburg had been true to his word when he’d complained that they were almost complete. He almost regretted sending his friend home; he knew how much Blair hated leaving things like this undone. He chuckled over the young man whose room and office were so cluttered being equally steadfast in completing forms, reports, and student papers. But that was his Blair, a study in contradictions.

He closed the file, picked up his coat, and went to knock on his captain’s door before going in.

“Jim,” Simon greeted.

“The reports on the Douglas case,” he said, indicating the file as he handed it off.

Simon peered around his detective to see his conspicuously empty desk. “Where’s the kid?” he asked. Simon had become so accustom to Blair bringing in Ellison’s paperwork that he was surprised Jim was delivering them himself, especially since he knew the kid had been there a couple hours earlier.

“Sent him home,” Jim stated plainly.

“Everything okay?” Simon might give Blair a hard time, but he liked the young anthropologist and respected him, not to mention how much he’d helped and meant to Jim.

Jim nodded. “He’s just coming down with something. I don’t think he even knows it yet. You mind if I…” he jerked a thumb toward the elevator by way of finishing the question.

“Get out of here; go take care of your partner.”

“Thanks, Simon.” Jim smiled at his captain and left.

Simon huffed a chuckle as he watched his best detective leave – how a man so good at this job, even without the heightened senses, could be so oblivious he didn’t know. He just counted the days until they figured it out.

~~~

When Jim opened the door to #307, he had to smile at the sight that greeted him. Blair was curled on his side of the big sofa fast asleep, a cup of cold tea within easy reach on the coffee table. The familiar scents of cinnamon, ginger, and what he now knew to be Echinacea masking the bitter scent of goldenseal radiated from the mug. With a minimum of noise he shed his coat, dropped his keys in the basket, and went to the kitchen. Almost subconsciously he trained his senses on his Guide. Ever since Alex, Jim had needed more than the steady thump-thump of his heart to reassure himself of Blair’s well-being; now it was second nature to listen for the rush of air through his lungs as well. He was still taken aback by the sheer magnitude of his relief as the rough sandpaper sound of damaged lungs slowly faded away to almost nothing. 

The slightly heavier rasp of Blair’s lungs caused Jim to frown. Blair had been running himself ragged, more than usual. Today might have been a calm one, but the past two weeks had been Hell. A kidnapping, two unrelated robberies, and a homicide had kept both of them in a frenzy of activity on top of Blair’s commitments at the University. It was no wonder it was catching up to him.

Jim debated letting his friend sleep, the food could always be reheated later. One look at Blair’s peaceful face and the decision was made.

After stowing away their dinner, Jim went to his sleeping friend. Grabbing the afghan as he went; he gently draped it over the sleeping form. He brushed the unruly curls from Blair’s face and kissed his head tenderly, letting the brief taste of his partner explode through him.

Blair squirmed, burrowing deeper into the blanket. “Jim?” he mumbled sleepily.

It was only with Blair’s quiet question that Jim realized he was stroking the young man’s hair. “Yeah, Chief. Go back to sleep,” he told him softly.

“Mmm, ‘kay,” Blair murmured and settled back into his well-deserved slumber.

Jim suppressed a chuckle, trust the one time Blair would listen to him he was asleep. With a final, lingering touch to Blair’s hair he tore himself away for a shower and hopefully quiet evening.

~~~

The following morning greeted the Sentinel with yet more of the contradiction that is Blair Sandburg. Jim’s acute hearing picked up the slight wheeze that now accompanied the rasping of Blair’s lungs, but the sight before him was of one standard issue, hyper-kinetic Guide whose only concession to his debatable state of health was the afghan wrapped around his shoulders.

“Morning, Chief,” he said as he watched Blair flit around the kitchen making breakfast.

“I didn’t wake you, man, did I?”

“Nah, Chief, I’m used to your racket by now,” he teased. He didn’t have the heart, or inclination, to tell him that he always woke him up; he monitored him too closely, even in sleep, not to – years in Covert Ops had taught him to divide his attention between sleep and his surroundings.

Blair rolled his eyes and went back to turning eggs.

Jim smirked as he headed for the bathroom. “Save some of that for me.”

Blair snickered. “No guarantees, man, somebody didn’t wake me up for dinner.”

“You needed your rest, Chief; you’ve been running on the reserves of your reserves for days.” Jim wasn’t comfortable letting Blair know just how closely he monitored him these days.

Blair gave a half shrug in acknowledgement. He had been exhausted and even sleeping on the sofa all night had been heavenly.

Fifteen minutes later they were sitting down to a meal of scrambled egg whites, turkey bacon, and toast. They ate quietly studying each other.

“So,” Blair broke the comfortable silence, wiping his mouth once before he continued, “you wanna tell me what that was about yesterday?”

Jim sipped at his coffee before answering, wondering just how much he’d have to divulge. “You were beat, Chief. There’s a dent in the sofa to prove it.”

Mimicking Jim’s actions, Blair sipped at his own coffee. “That doesn’t explain the tea,” he said calmly.

Jim shrugged. “There’s that flu going around the station, better safe than sorry.”

“Come on, Jim, this is me, man…”

“What do you want, Sandburg? I was worried about you, okay. Your lungs sound like shit,” he snapped more defensively than was necessary, and it took a moment for him to realize just what he’d admitted.

“Oh,” Blair answered, seemingly oblivious to Jim’s vehemence, or more likely seeing past it to the concern it tried to mask.

As if he needed more proof then his senses could provide the lack of Blair’s never waning excitement over Jim’s senses – the whats and hows that his scientific mind was fascinated, nearly obsessed, by – told him exactly how bad his partner was feeling even if it hadn’t registered with the man himself.

Before either could speak, Jim’s phone rang like some sweet, trilling angel of mercy.

“Ellison,” he answered. “Sure, Simon, we’ll be right there – 20 minutes.”

Blair looked expectantly at his friend.

“Two DBs over on Tungston. Some sort of power broker,” Jim informed him as Blair cleared the plates from the table and rinsed them.

Jim stood by the door holding out Blair’s coat - his warmer one. He knew even with his cold nature Blair would opt for the lighter of his winter jackets, since the day was supposed to warm steadily.

With a playfully exasperated roll of his eyes Blair took the proffered jacket and followed his Sentinel out the door.

~~~

“How do you do it, Chief?” Jim asked, pulling Blair’s drenched flannel from his shoulders and wrapping his own thankfully dry jacket over them.

“It’s a gift, man,” Blair chattered, pulling the warm coat closer around himself, while Jim redirected the truck’s vents to blow their heated air closer to his partner.

Jim shook his head. Trust Blair to get knocked into the Sound while trying to stay out of the way for once. Jim brushed a damp curl from his Guide’s face. “I need to talk to Simon.”

Blair nodded. “At least this time you don’t have to tell me to stay in the truck,” he tried to chuckle reassuringly, but it turned into a hacking cough.

“Maybe I should drop you in the bay more often.”

Blair smiled weakly, shivering even with the heat from the truck.

Jim pushed his concern away. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Blair nodded.

“And, Chief. Stay in the truck.”

“Har-har.”

“How’s the kid?” Simon asked as Jim jogged towards him.

“Cold, wet, and about two steps from pneumonia, but he’ll be fine.”

Simon huffed; the ‘kid’ had been through more than most of Major Crimes collectively and he kept coming back for more. He gave a pointed look to his detective, asking, “How are you?” Simon wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t Captain of Major Crimes because of his good looks and charm, and he hadn’t needed to see the look on Jim’s face when Blair hit the water to know what he was thinking and the images it triggered – he’d been there, after all.

“I’m fine, Simon.”

His captain’s look only intensified.

Jim knew what Simon was really asking and he couldn’t blame him. Seeing a cold, wet Blair had sent a momentary jolt of terror through him, however unfounded, and Blair was fine, warming up in the truck – safe and alive. “I’m fine,” he said again. “He’s fine; I’m fine.” He knew Simon would understand; that it was the real answer to what he was asking.

“Good,” Simon said, finally satisfied with Jim’s answer. “I want your report on my desk in the morning. Now, get Sandburg home and dry.”

“Yes, Captain.” He didn’t need to be told twice to take care of his Guide.

Once back at the loft, Jim sent Blair for a hot shower, while he started a fire. He kept an ear out for his friend, trying not to cringe when the coughing started, focusing instead on locating the ginger and goldenseal tea – one day he would have to learn these teas’ names, rather than analyzing their scents and tastes. He bit back a snicker thinking about Blair in researcher mode mixing up and mislabeling his teas just to see if he could identify the contents, previous contents, and, just to play with the Sentinel, whether the label belonged to either. When Blair returned much pinker and healthy looking, Jim directed him to the fire. “Sit,” he ordered. He pressed a warm cup of tea into Blair’s hand. “Drink.”

“Jim,” Blair laid a hand on Jim’s arm, knowing the physical connection would do more than any reassuring words could.

Jim met his Guide’s warm blue eyes and jerkily nodded his thanks. “You still sound like crap, Chief. Drink,” he intoned fondly.

Blair shook his head just as fondly, but took the steaming mug in both hands and breathed in the soothing steam. He sipped his tea obediently as he watched his Sentinel move gracefully around the kitchen putting together their dinner. He smiled, ‘his Sentinel,’ he secretly loved that he could call Jim that, at least in that way Jim was his.

By the time Jim had finished dinner, Blair was coughing in earnest; what had started as the stray muffled scratch was now an insistent and persistent cough. Jim set the bowls of soup down on the coffee table and placed his hand gently on his Guide’s forehead. He could feel the heat rolling off Blair before skin met skin. “News flash, Chief, you’ve got a fever to go with that cough.”

Blair made a sound that could’ve been a grunt or a groan, anything more specific was swept up in another bout of harsh coughing.

“Soup then bed,” Jim said once Blair’s coughing had subsided.

Dutifully, Blair set into his soup. He would’ve smiled if it didn’t hurt so much, he ached all over. It never ceased to amaze him how Jim could turn something as simple as soup into a taste extravaganza; it had to be one of the more pleasant advantages of being a Sentinel. As he let the soup warm him and ease his scratchy throat, his thoughts turned to other, less innocent, things Jim’s enhanced senses could turn from amazing to exquisite and Earth shattering, and how much he wanted to be the one to test that hypothesis.

“You okay there, Chief?” Jim voice interrupted Blair’s reverie.

“Oh, yeah, man, just thinking.”

Jim grimaced internally at the rough sound of his Guide’s normally smooth tone, but he smiled. “You’re always thinking, Darwin.”

Blair did manage a mischievous smile at that despite the ache in his muscles. ‘If only he knew,’ he thought with equal parts mirth and resignation.

Jim watched Blair stirring the remnants of his soup, but not eating for several minutes. “Finished with that?” he finally asked.

Jim’s patient nodded trying to stifle a cough.

Jim cleared their dishes, giving Blair a few more minutes by the fire before sending him to bed. When he returned, Blair was half dozing leaning toward the fire. Watching the firelight flicker across his friend’s face and bring out the rich auburn of his wild hair that framed his features, he felt the tug at his gut that brought home all his unspoken feelings for him. His smile was a warm one as he gently tapped Blair’s shoulder, whispering, “Come on, Chief, let’s get you to bed.”

Blair roused from his light doze to turn bloodshot blue eyes on his best friend. “In a minute, man. It’s nice here.”

“Chief,” he chided lightly, trying not to lose himself in too blue eyes whose beauty couldn’t be marred by the vivid red lines that traversed them.

Blair couldn’t deny that bed sounded good, but he didn’t want his bed. He wanted Jim. Well, he _wanted_ Jim, too, but right now he simply wanted to be near him, let his strength and warmth wash over him and sooth his bone weary ache.

Something in those plaintiff eyes caused the older man to relent. “Alright, a few minutes,” he agreed, sitting down at Blair’s side. He didn’t argue or say anything when Blair leaned into him, nudging his willing arm over his shoulder. He knew it was simply the warmth of a trusted body Blair craved – his Blessed Protector, not him, not ‘Jim’. That didn’t stop him from closing his eyes and soaking up the feeling of his Guide cuddled next to him invading his senses. Jim didn’t push, didn’t catalogue, didn’t do any of the hundred things he could’ve to make this moment, this memory, last; he wasn’t sure he could handle knowing and not having. Realistically, he knew even if he wasn’t conscious of it that everything was still being filed away in his brain; Blair had taught him that. He watched the fire crackle and burn, willing to let the minutes with Blair tucked to his side slip by unnoticed, until his sensitive ears picked up the quiet wheeze that foreshadowed his friend’s coughing. Jim gently pushed him to sitting straight up, knowing it would make the coughs wracking Blair’s body easier to endure. He rubbed soothing circles on his back until the tremors subsided. “I think it’s time we get you to bed, buddy.”

Weakly, Blair nodded. He didn’t want to relinquish Jim’s touch, but he knew the older man was right.

As Blair shakily tried to stand, Jim caught him as he swayed and stumbled, bracing the young anthropologist on his arm. “Hold on there, genius,” he said, standing and wrapping an arm around unresisting shoulders to direct him to his room and bed.

Once Blair was warmly ensconced in his bed, Jim turned to leave; Blair didn’t need him hovering and he could monitor his friend from anywhere in the loft, he didn’t have to physically be in the younger man’s space. He was stopped by a too warm, slightly clammy hand grabbing his.

Blair looked at him with those beautiful, bloodshot eyes, and croaked out, “Thanks, man.”

Jim gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Anytime, Chief.”

Blair tried to smile as his hand slipped from Jim’s, exhaustion and illness finally winning their battle against consciousness.

As he’d done earlier in the truck, Jim brushed a stray curl from his Guide’s face and walked away.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, Jim grabbed a beer from the fridge and padded back over to the fire. He’d resisted the urge to check on Blair; he’d had another harsh coughing fit while Jim was in the shower, but his heart rate had evened out quickly and Jim knew he was again asleep – something he knew would be pointless for him to attempt, not with his senses so focused and alert. He settled back into the sofa, letting his head fall back, wondering when _just_ being Blair’s best friend had become so hard. With a sigh he picked up a book from the table. He’d been ‘reading’ for half an hour before it registered that it was one of Blair’s textbooks. He shook his head – it was going to be a long night.

Shortly after three and about halfway through _Black Elk Speaks_ , Blair’s heartbeat spiked – faster and harder than any of the numerous times earlier in the night. Jim was at his friend’s side before the coughing started. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he swept the sweat dampened curls from Blair’s face, rubbing those same soothing circles along his back as the hacking cough only seemed to worsen. “Okay, Sandburg,” Jim said a moment later, pulling the young man up to sitting propped up half on his firm chest.

Slowly the cough subsided to small weak gusts, though if that was truly because the cough had eased or simply that Blair’s body couldn’t manage the strength to continue, Jim couldn’t be sure.

“Jim, man, I’m fine,” Blair insisted on short shallow breaths.

“Sure, Chief, and flying monkeys are real,” Jim answered gently.

“Jim…” he admonished hoarsely, his head lolling against the big man’s chest, effectively tucking it under Jim’s chin. “Cluck, cluck,” he mumbled sleepily.

A soft chuckle caused Jim’s chest to rumble. It was an old accusation over Jim’s tendency to worry like a mother hen whenever his Guide was involved; though Jim would deny it, he knew it was true. Of course, with someone like Blair around he had every reason to. He hooked his chin more comfortably over Blair’s mop of curls. “Whatever you say, Chief.”

“Mmm,” came the sleepy reply. “Do that again.”

“I admit I may not be as smart as you, Professor, so you’ll have to forgive me- do what again?” he asked with a smile, a pushy Blair was a good thing in his books, it was reassuring.

“That,” he said as if it explained everything. When this received only another soft chuckle and not the desired effect, he squirmed a little, getting more comfortable against his living bolster and tried again. “Talk. ‘s nice,” he murmured.

‘Talk’. It figured that even a sick Sandburg wanted to talk, or at least make Jim talk. With a resigned sigh, he asked, “What do you want me to talk about, Chief?”

“Mmm, anything… feels good.”

Jim smiled as realization dawned; he wasn’t the only one comforted by a devoted voice and the vibrations of the words it spoke, regardless of what those words were. He remembered the first night after getting dosed with Golden, when his senses were still throwing out their own stumbling blocks – no pun intended – how Blair had stayed with him talking nonsense, telling him endless tales of obscure tribes from all over the world with a few of his own exploits thrown in. It hadn’t mattered how often he’d told the young man to be quiet or go to bed; Blair had simply stayed, sitting on Jim’s big bed, close enough that their arms brushed, immovable as any rock face, chattering away and grounding him with that light touch, but it hadn’t been his normal hyper chatter. Blair’s voice had dropped subtly, his words stronger, more reassuring; he’d slipped into the warm, anchoring tones of, what he now easily recognized as his ‘Guide voice’. That night had meant as much to Jim as when the insane anthropologist had first come into his life bringing sanity and control with him. He had to bite back a laugh at the idea of Blair Sandburg, sanity, and control in the same time zone of each other.

“Wha?” Blair asked around a small scrape of cough.

“Nothing, Chief, thinking.” Jim closed his eyes letting his mind wander to a time before Blair, before the PD, a time when all that mattered was the tribe. “There was one night,” he drug his words from deep in his chest, pulling out a soothing strength, the closest he could come to his Guide’s reassuring tones, “it was a couple of months after I started living with the Chopec, everything seemed to come together. Surrounded by so much life and I was open to all of it. I know I’ve always acted like these senses were a curse, but that night they were the blessing you’ve always said they are.”

“Jim,” Blair breathed softly, understanding just how precious the memory was, and, even fevered and sleep-muddled, how much it meant for Jim to share it with him.

“Quiet,” Jim instructed, smiling wanly against Blair’s curls; knowing he understood. It was one of the many things he loved about the young man that despite how different they were Blair had always understood him, sometimes better than he did himself. Softly, in that same smooth voice, he continued. “That was the first time I let my senses go. It wasn’t a zone – I’m not sure what it was. Everything was sharper, finer. The stars tiny pinpoints breaking through the leaves, bright and clear, a world outside the rainforest. I could hear the vines creaking and swaying with every footstep, every claw that scrappled at the ground, every leaf under the breeze that never made its way below the canopy, animals settling, burrowing, eating. Thousands of heartbeats and I could identify all of them. The smells…” He sighed remembering, dredging up sights and sounds he’d buried long ago. “The rain was always there, damp – fresh where it clung in the canopy, old and stale farther down, and earthy where it soaked the undergrowth. All the life, Jesus, Blair… Each of them smelling slightly different than the other, their fur, skin, waste, all right there – life and death. I’d never thought of death as a comfort until that night. I could smell the death and decay under all that life and I was alive.” He closed his eyes, his senses automatically seeking out and focusing on his Guide, letting Blair wash over him the way the rainforest had that night. As he breathed in the scent of the man in his arms he realized what he’d felt all those years ago. “Peace.” The word floated softly on whispered air. He held Blair a little tighter. “That’s what it was, Chief – peace.”

They sat in silence for long minutes until Blair’s heart rate lowered in sleep. Jim knew he should move, ease out from Blair’s bed, allow him to sleep, but it felt too good – the weight of his Guide as reassuring as his breath and heartbeat, so he stayed, letting the man he loved rest in his arms. Their night passed relatively smoothly; the few times Blair’s cough returned, Jim was there to ensure it did no more than disturb the young man, not wake him fully, and ease him back to sleep with soft strokes and whispered words.

~~~

The tree seemed to cradle him, molding to his body; the skin was smooth, not rough enough to be called bark. He leaned into it as he took in his surroundings, huge towering trees, dense foliage, humid air, chittering in the trees, and a smell he knew instinctively – rainforest. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply separating the smells he could, water that clung and fell from the trees, plants with the sweet scent of growth, fruit, and decay, the distinct unmistakable smell of animals that he had no hope of identifying further. The piercing squawk of a macaw pulled his attention to the noises surrounding him, the scream of monkeys declaring their territory or seeking a mate, the rustling of underbrush as creatures made their way through the forest; straining he could hear the swinging of vines above him and the leaves in the wind through the canopy. He didn’t dare open his eyes, he knew whatever he saw would pale in comparison to what he was sensing and he wasn’t willing to give up this serenity just yet. He tried to take in another breath of the fragrant air only to have it catch in his throat and turn into a hacking cough. The feel of the rainforest slipped away even as the form sheltering him seemed to tighten around him, a soothing caress swept through his hair, and soft, barely there words filled his ears.

Blair coughed for another mercifully short moment, before relaxing and letting the touches and words ease him back to sleep.

~~~

Jim stared blankly at the report he was attempting to fill out. His thoughts were a jumble and he couldn’t concentrate on work. He’d finally extracted himself from Blair’s bed as the sun rose. Blair’s fever had still been uncomfortably high, but the pressure and wheeze in his lungs had lessened. But Blair’s health wasn’t what had his thoughts askew. No, that honor lay with the memories he’d shared. Jim held no illusions that his title of ‘king of repression’ was unwarranted, so it was not much of a surprise that he hadn’t remembered it, but why had it come up last night. When he remembered things like that there was always a catalyst, some sense, situation, or action that brought the memory to the fore.

So lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the shadow fall over his desk. “Jim,” Simon called in his clipped tones, snapping his fingers in the detective’s face. “You with us? Don’t tell me I have to drag Sandburg’s butt down here.”

Jim shook himself and looked at his boss. “Don’t bother Blair.” He was surprised at the fierceness behind the words.

Apparently, Simon was, too. He huffed. “Kid’s not doing too good.”

“Other than attempting to remove his bronchi from his lungs? His temperature was still too high, but his breathing was easier this morning,” Jim informed him.

“Humph,” Simon grunted around the cigar he was biting on. “Go home, Ellison.”

“Sir?”

He leaned down close, speaking quietly. “I don’t need you here, unfocused, staring at reports about half a step away from a zone out and no Sandburg.” He stood back up and ordered again, “Go home.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jim agreed, more relieved than he cared to admit at being allowed to get back home to his Guide.

Shaking his head, Simon chuckled at the speed with which Jim gathered his things and bolted out the building. Jim had it bad; he wondered if it was too late to change his date in the pool.

~~~

Despite his urge to be at Blair’s side, Jim decided to take a detour on his way home. Pulling out of the police garage, he turned the truck away from the loft and towards one of the smaller bohemian districts in Cascade.

Chimes tinkled with a crystalline sharpness as Jim entered the small herbalist’s. Experience had taught him to dial down his hearing and smell, at least when he first entered.

“Jim,” a warm voice greeted him. “Where’s Blair?”

“Hey, Mags.” He smiled at the pleasantly plump woman, she was at least ten years his senior, probably closer to twenty, but she had an effervescence that reminded him of Blair and a silky glide, so like Naomi. He’d jokingly asked his partner if they were related; that got him a playful shove and shake of Blair’s curly head. “He’s a bit under the weather.”

“Oh,” she said worriedly, “nothing serious, I hope.”

Jim shook his head, mentally screaming that his Guide was sick, of _course_ it was serious! “He’ll pull through. Actually, that’s why I’m here. Do you have anything that would help fever and congestion with a heavy cough? You know how Blair is about mass produced medicine.”

“Oh dear, his lungs causing him trouble again.”

Jim mentally cringed at the inadvertent reminder.

“I think I have just the thing.” She disappeared into the back of the shop, returning a moment later with two bottles. “Here we are,” she handed Jim the first bottle. “This should help with the fever and this,” she passed over the second bottle, “will help with the congestion and breathing, it’s the same one he used a few months back.”

“Perfect,” Jim said, trying to hide his relief at having something other than tea to ply his friend with. Smiling, feeling lighter, he paid for the medicine. “Thanks, Mags.”

“Jim,” she stopped him with a hand on his. “Take care of your young man. He needs you as much as you need him.” She smiled a little sadly. “Give Blair my best,” she said with a pat to Jim’s hand.

“I will,” he promised. “Thanks again, Mags.”

~~~

When Jim got home, Blair was asleep, wheezing steadily, on the sofa curled under the blanket from his room and the living room afghan. He had to smile at the cocooned figure. He set his haul, such as it was, on the kitchen counter and went to light the fire he laid that morning. Checking Blair’s temperature, he was pleased to find it hadn’t gone up further.

Sitting down heavily on the far side of the sofa, Jim rubbed his temples. He didn’t want to think about the memory, but he knew he had to; he didn’t think his mind was going to give him a choice in the matter. He sighed, he wasn’t a thinker, not this kind of thinking, this was Sandburg’s area – ‘processing’. He took a deep breath, the scents of the loft a welcome comfort. He could do this. He _had_ to do this. The hand that had been rubbing at his temples fell away seeking the comfort of his Guide and finding a blanket covered foot. Blair would tell him to take deep cleansing breaths, letting out tension and worries as he exhaled. He always felt like a fool, but he did it anyway because it was _Blair_ and he was usually right. ‘This is why he’s a Guide, my Guide,’ he thought with a smile and an unconscious squeeze to Blair’s foot. 

He let the memory come to him in its own time, trying to identify what could’ve triggered it. He looked at the memory, what it meant to him. ‘Peace,’ he’d told Blair last night, but that wasn’t what he’d been feeling with Blair leaning against him wheezing and coughing. What had he felt? ‘Right,’ he thought. It felt _right_. And just like that he had his answer. All those years ago, even as messed up as everything was – his men dead, his senses going crazy, a stranger among the Chopec, not knowing if or when they’d send a rescue or relief – he’d felt it was right. He was where he was supposed to be, doing what he was meant to do. Right. Holding Sandburg last night had been right, the same bone deep _right_ as that night in the jungle.

He let out a deep huff. He’d known for years that he loved Blair, was in love with him, but he’d never acted on it because Blair was Blair, his best friend and Guide, and anything more was a line he didn’t think he should cross, but last night everything had been right – holding Blair, taking care of him, loving him. It was all _right_. Looking at that revelation, he realized that it had been the easy part, now he had to figure out what to do with it.

~~~

Blair woke with Jim’s hand resting on his covered foot. There was something possessive about the gesture, even with its light touch. Not that Blair minded, he only wished it was the kind of possessiveness he wanted and not just the Sentinel’s need to lay claim to his Guide.

“Hey, Chief,” Jim’s voice was soft, almost dreamy, “how you feeling?”

“Better, I think.” He groaned softly as his chest tightened from speaking two simple words. “Feels like I’ve got a Sumo wrestler on my chest. Man, so not an experience I’d encourage,” he said, sitting up – reluctantly pulling his foot from Jim’s touch. His hand went to his head as a wave of dizziness hit him.

“Easy there, Chief.” Jim chuckled as he stood. “I think you and I have different definitions of ‘better’.”

Blair looked up at his partner, unamused, but all Jim noticed was how much clearer his Guide’s eyes were.

“Here,” he began, going to fetch the medicine from the kitchen and a fresh bottle of water to wash it down, “picked these up on the way home.” He handed the bottles and large spoon to Blair.

Blair looked at the bottles- Nature & Nurture was clear across town. “Thanks, man. You really didn’t-”

Jim waved his words away. “You’re sick, Chief, and I knew you weren’t going to take 44D like a normal person,” he said, only half teasing.

Blair smiled softly, back on familiar territory. “Man, do you have any idea what’s in that stuff? No thanks, I’ll take my chances with the bacteria – safer.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Just take your medicine.” He pulled the leftover soup out of the fridge and waited for the tell-tale sound of the cap being replaced on the water bottle and set aside, before asking, “You hungry?”

Blair coughed a couple short bursts, pressing a hand to his sore chest. “Not really,” he groaned.

“You need to eat, Chief.”

“I said I wasn’t hungry, not that I wouldn’t eat.”

Jim shook his head as he put the soup on to heat.

Blair took advantage of the time to make his way to the bathroom, more shakily than he’d like. By the time he emerged, bladder lighter and face feeling more human, Jim had hot soup waiting on the table. Halfway to the table, Blair’s breath caught and a coughing fit overcame him.

Jim’s every muscle was already telling him to go to his friend, before he doubled over clutching his stomach. His jaw twitched with the effort not to wrap Blair up in his arms and comfort him, but he knew Blair wouldn’t want to feel babied and Jim wasn’t going to push his true feelings on him until he was well. Instead, he made himself focus on the tea he was steeping and forced his voice into calm as he called out, “You okay there, Chief?” The coughing went on for what felt like an eternity to a love-struck Sentinel, but eventually is slowed to shallow gasps and too hard wheezing.

“Nah, man, I’m good,” the young man assured on panting breaths.

A derisive huff was his reply. “Sit down, before you fall down,” he ordered, when Blair seemed content to simply lean on the counter.

With entirely too much effort Blair obeyed.

“Eat,” Jim said as he sat across from his friend.

Blair smiled weakly, his face still hurt too much for mirth. “Anyone ever tell you, you have control issues, Ellison?”

Jim smiled. “It may have been mentioned once or twice. Now, eat,” he added authoritatively.

“Yes, sir, Captain, sir,” he teased, swallowing a cough as it tried to escape.

Jim leered over his glass that was valiantly trying to hide his smirk.

“Hey, Jim?” 

The quiet entreaty startling the older man. “Yeah.”

Blair toyed with his soup for a minute before continuing; he knew Jim wouldn’t be comfortable talking about last night, but he had to at least say this. “Thanks, for last night, for everything.”

Jim’s smile was small, but genuine and he bit back the urge to tell Blair he only wished he could do it every night for the rest of his life.

After their early dinner, Jim made sure his Guide settled himself on the sofa in front of the fire, and pulled out the files he’d brought home, intent on getting the case report finished now that his thoughts were clearer and ready to focus.

~~~

Jim had to admit, Mags’ potions impressed him. Blair’s fever had gone down quickly and he could hear his breathing become steadily less labored as the tightness in his chest slowly relinquished its hold. Within the week Blair was bouncing enough to light downtown Cascade… at Christmas. The occasional ragged cough punctuated his activities, but that was to be expected.

It was a day like any other; Blair was bouncing around the kitchen making dinner when Jim came out of the shower. He stopped, watching his partner veritably frolic, stirring, chopping, the standard everyday things he did. In that moment the rightness of it hit him again and he knew it was time to tell the man he loved that he did just that- love him.

“Hey, man, you okay?" Blair asked, worried that Jim was about to zone on something.

“Hmm? I’m fine, Chief,” he said with a bright face-lighting smile that even made his pale blue eyes twinkle.

Blair returned the smile full force; sometimes he thought he lived for those smiles. They were entirely too rare; Jim was so closed off, though the smiles and playfulness had increased over the years. Blair likes to think in some small way he’d helped to bring that out from the angry hardass cop he’d met four years ago.

Hitching his towel more securely, Jim forced himself away from the scene before him and up the stairs. He returned a few minutes later in a comfy pair of lightweight sweats and tee, it was either that or come down dressed in black slacks and the pale blue silk shirt Blair had gotten him for Christmas, and as much as he wanted this to go well, he didn’t want to come across as expectant. Walking up behind his friend, he took the spoon from his hand. “Can that wait, Chief? I need to talk to you.”

“Sure, big guy, what’s up? Senses?” he chirped, hoping it masked his underlying worry as every scenario tried to play through his mind at once.

“Calm down, Chief. You’re going to give yourself a coronary,” he tone was easy and playful. He grabbed two beers from the fridge and headed for the big sofa, he wanted to give Blair space, even though his body was screaming to hold him close and never let go.

Turning off the stove and removing the pots from hot eyes, Blair followed his friend into the living room.

Silently, Jim handed the young anthropologist a beer and gestured for him to sit.

Gratefully accepting the drink, Blair folded himself down on the sofa. Fighting every urge to ask Jim what was going on, he worried the label of his beer. Jim would talk when he was ready.

“The other night, what I told you. It bugged me. Why then? These things usually come back for a reason.”

“Jim, man, why didn’t you talk to me then?” Blair’s fears quickly turning to concern.

“Just let me finish.” He didn’t think he could get through this with Sandburg in research mode.

The young man sank back into the cushions and nodded.

“Thank you.” Jim gave him a small smile. “It was driving me crazy. I just couldn’t figure it out. Simon sent me home,” he added with a depreciating chuckle. “He was afraid I was going to zone.”

Blair squirmed with the effort not to interrupt.

“I’m getting there, Chief, I promise. When I got home, I thought about it. Eventually, I made myself relax, those breathing things you’re so fond of making me do, and it was there, the answer.” He took a deep breath. “It was right.”

He couldn’t miss Blair’s quizzical gaze. 

“That night, both of them, they felt right, like I was where I was supposed to be.” He closed his eyes. He could do this. He hoped he could do this.

“Jim?” Blair’s concerned voice cut through his thoughts.

Jim opened his eyes to see Blair had moved closer to him, almost touching.

Blair gulped, his heart beating like a marathon runner’s, but when he spoke it was with a slow calm, a completely inverse proportion to what he felt. “Jim, man, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“If you think I’m saying I’m in love with you and have been for a while,” he huffed, “a very long while. And that I’m just now getting the balls to tell you how I feel. Then yes.”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but Blair taking his hand and pressing it to his chest holding it there above his heart, and whispering, “It’s always belonged to you; I just never thought you’d want it,” was more than he’d dared to hope.

With that declaration Blair climbed into Jim’s lap, resting his head on his shoulder where he could nuzzle the strong lines of his Sentinel’s neck.

Jim’s arms latched onto the young man, pulling him closer now that he had permission to do so. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, it wasn’t as if he didn’t know Blair’s scent; he could identify his scent as surely as he could his heartbeat, but this was the first time he was allowed to simply breathe that precious scent up close and personal, from the source. He felt Blair’s hand caress his check.

“No zoning, big guy. I want all of your attention.” There was a roughness to the rich velvet of Blair’s voice that sent a jolt of warmth along Jim’s spine and made his mind purr in satisfaction.

As moments passed, their noses bumped playfully as their lips teased each other with barely there touches and hints of what was to come. The dance of their lips eventually slowed into a soft meeting of moist flesh; a first taste of what they’d both yearned for for so long.

Spices exploded over Jim’s sensitive taste buds – the pepper, ginger, and rosemary from their interrupted dinner, the subtle flavors of chicken and corn, and an earthy taste, like chestnuts and hot apple cider; an amalgamation of tastes that was pure Blair. He sighed into their kiss, the feeling of his life clicking into place too much to keep inside.

They took their time, savoring and learning each other, letting the kiss follow its own rhythm without rush or urgency. Eventually, their kiss swollen lips parted. Blair trailing butterfly kisses along Jim’s strong jaw until he was once again nuzzling against his neck, his head resting on Jim’s broad shoulder. 

Jim rubbed his cheek against Blair’s silken hair. “God, Blair,” was all he said, but they were laced with meaning; meaning he knew his Guide would understand.

Blair smiled into his lover’s neck, darting his tongue out to lick at skin there and wallowing blissfully in the shiver that it produced. “I know, man. I love you, too,” he whispered across Jim’s neck, before licking that spot again.

Dinner forgotten, the pair sat, nuzzling and petting, whispering long denied declarations of love, devotion, and desire. It was only after all their words seem to fail them, all having been said and sworn, and hands began to still, having found the places they could rest for eternity.

Wordlessly, Jim eased Blair off his lap. Standing, he offered his hand in silent entreaty and invitation.

Beaming a full body smile that only Blair could give, he slid his hand into Jim’s and let himself be led up the stairs.

~~~

Stars filtered down through the skylight, clear and perfect in the moonless night. Outside, cars drove by and people talked, the words muffled sounds floating in the air. Blair lay stretched out, his head pillowed on Jim’s chest, his eyes locked on the night sky, fingers intertwined with his lover’s. He sucked in a quiet breath and tightened Jim’s arm around him.

Jim carded the fingers of his free hand through Blair’s curls. “What is it, Chief?”

Blair turned mystified blue eyes at his partner, curling himself into his side, a single word of explanation and understanding on his lips. “Peace.”


End file.
